"Come on," Kíli wheedled, "what'd'ya say?" His mother had blamed him a thousand times this week alone for the way his brown eyes melted her. Bofur wasn't so different.

What little resistance was in the toymaker's spirit went all out by way of his shoulders. "Alright Lad," he said. "Just for now, we'll have it your way."

Kíli grinned. "Excellent." He hopped over the counter and rubbed his hands. "Where do I start?"

Bofur's hat indicated a place behind him. Kíli knew his way about the workshop well enough. It'd been a place of wonders in his childhood, after all. And his hands knew the work. Well enough, anyway.

"You know, I don't want you thinking I disagree with the sentiment," Bofur admitted, after a silence.

Kíli spared him half a glance, but he seemed to have said his piece. Bifur worked busily, and he gave no indication that anything that had passed in the shop that day had reached his attention at all. But Kíli would have bet a good coin that his scarred hands had moved faster since Bofur'd given his consent. Kíli turned his eye to his work. "I remember what it was," he said lowly, "to be young, and to have little. There was a toymaker in my village." He did not turn to look at Bofur, who had stilled. "He was kind, to my brother and me." He shook his head. "I'll never forget it."

Behind him Bofur sighed. "Two young'ens is one thing, a whole day…?"

Kíli grinned over his shoulder. "You're getting my free labor out of it."

"Such as it is."

Good humored, Kíli laughed.

Fíli came by, as he'd promised. Later. When he'd finished what he'd set out to have done. As did Dwalin, and Balin, and Glóin.

Bofur looked at this last with his hat askance. "Now you I'd pegged for sure on the side o' sense."

Sheepishly, Glóin shrugged. "I've a son."

And that was that. Kíli set them to work. And for all he dragged his feet, Bofur lent them all the aid he could, on top of the materials and instruction he had promised. Kíli was certain by the end, that they'd made far fewer than the old toymaker sent them off with, finally, when it was done, and the sun had long-since set.

Together, they went out, with the dinner Bombur had made them warm inside them.

There weren't many children in their little community. They'd taken care to remember them all. Kíli thought eagerly of the surprise on their little faces and the wonder of their parents.

"You know," Fí nudged his shoulder when it was over and they were walking home. "He sent us with more than we earned." He blew out a long breath towards the darkness. "Six-of-ten we promised him. I'd be surprised if he kept three."

"I told you," Kíli grinned. "He's one of the good ones."

In the dark beside him, Fí let out a low laugh. "I'm proud of you, Little Brother."